Gilbert: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Escape.

“Stop pickin’ at yeer manacles!” Yelled the slaver as Gilbert attempted to free himself of his metallic restraints.

He was a short, plump, ill-educated hobgoblin, whose life of thievery and corruption had finally caught up with him, as his surroundings would imply. He had been caught in the act of stealing a bag of gold from the belt of a large ogre, and was dragged to jail by the creature’s accomplices after several days on the run. The jail itself was small, cramped, and smelt strongly of faeces; the latter no doubt caused by the proximity of the cells to the overflowing latrine, encrusted with all manner of foul substances. Screams echoed from the torture chamber; Gilbert wondered which creature had been chosen to suffer today, and what manner of torture they were forced to endure.

Gilbert’s ears pricked up heard the head executioner outside the door; he was conversing with one of the guards in his usual dim-witted but cold voice. As well as being head executioner, this creature also had the privilege of being chief of torture at the prison, a position Gilbert once applied for. Unfortunately, hobgoblin’s abilities tend to be overlooked in areas such as bringing pain and suffering, maybe it’s their miniscule frames, or perhaps it’s their less-than-booming voices. The cell door was opened a crack and a small grotling was thrown in, covered from head to toe in small cuts and bruises. It dragged itself across the filthy floor into a corner and slumped onto a sack, obviously exhausted from the hours of torture it had been subject to.

The slaver spotted the grotling out of the corner of his eye. Something about the helpless creature seemed to irritate him, so he grabbed his trusty bashin’ stick and approached the grotling, making sure all his footsteps were loud enough to alert the small green beast to his presence. The grotling looked round, wiping the blood from its mouth, fear etched on its tiny face. The slaver came closer and held his stick aloft and ready to strike at the grotling, who in defence had lifted his hands up to shield himself from the potential blow. The slaver’s arm came down, but just as the mighty blunt instrument was about to impact on the defenceless creature’s skull, the arm stopped. The slaver had noticed the head executioner peering at him through the bars, and he did not want to anger him by performing acts of violence on the prisoners without his consent. The slaver moved away innocently and sat down on his stool, his eyes fixed on the grotling in the corner, who turned away and began to scratch simple shapes into the stone with his pointy claws.

Gilbert almost fell asleep, but suddenly stirred into life when he remembered that he was due next in the torture chamber. He was only slight, and not built to withstand such punishment; he decided that he needed to escape from this place. His mind entered a frenzy of highly unlikely and unfeasible escape plans. The head executioner could be heard outside preparing the chamber for a fresh victim, sharpening the pokers, heating the coals, tormenting the tiny nibbling creatures. Gilbert’s mind seemed to have finally reached some rationality with its thinking processes, and he decided the only course of action was to bribe the slaver to let him escape. But being a small, poor, jailed hobgoblin, he was not in the best of bargaining positions, it would take a great deal of wit and cunning to get out of this. He began by approaching the slaver, slowly, being careful not to draw attention to himself. The slaver eyed him suspiciously, as he advanced.

“Eer, you know, I’m really quite rich,” claimed Gilbert, a wide grin etched across his features.

“Oh really?” Replied the slaver as his eyes began to light up.

“Yes,” Gilbert said, “And if ye grant me passage out of this dungeon, I’ll gladly share my wealth with you.”

The slaver pondered for a moment, scratching his chin, deciding whether or not he believed the claims of the hobgoblin.

“Just how much wealth is we talkin’ about?’ He enquired.

“A thousand gold trinkets,” Gilbert quickly replied.

The slaver looked doubtful, and began to scratch his chin for a second time.

“Where did a weaklin’ like you get dat much riches?”

“Erm….” Gilbert thought to himself. “I found it.”

The doubts in the mind of the slaver seemed to be overshadowed with greed, as he seemed to accept the hobgoblins story.

“Alright, so when does I get paid?’

“I can get ye the gold by next week.” Gilbert said, the excitement now clear in his voice, as he realised his escape was imminent.

“Fine, but if you is lyin’, I’ll find you and bash your ‘ed in!”

The slaver spotted the head executioner outside the door. He fumbled in his trousers and brought out a key that unlocked Gilbert’s restraints. The creature then smuggled the hobgoblin into his pocket. The slaver opened the door, making sure not to make eye contact with his master. He began to make his way towards the exit, the sound of screaming and torture following them as they went. Gilbert held his nose, as the slaver’s pocket was not a pleasant place to reside; several times did he place his hand into unseen sticky puddles. When they reached the main door, the slaver picked up Gilbert from his pocket and posted him out through the rusty bars.

“And don’t forget the trinkets,” threatened the slaver as Gilbert dusted himself off and fled into the forest.

The scene was set for an epic adventure, although Gilbert was worried about how he would go about paying back the slaver, as the only currency he had on his person were a miniature turnip, a potato, and a small portion of cheese, hardly the thousand gold trinkets he needed. Gilbert considered the possibility of simply avoiding payment indefinitely, but his plan was thwarted as the slaver returned to the bars and tossed out a winged rat.

“You even fink about makin’ a run fer it, this little fella is trained to follow ye.’ Bellowed the slaver.

Gilbert glared at the beady eyes of the winged rat, and turned away in defiance. Gilbert surveyed the surrounding area for a moment, before deciding that his best bet was to venture into the forest nearby.

The forest was much larger than the woods in which Gilbert had been raised. The trees were taller, the birds were noisier, and the insects were ever so slightly more deadly looking. As he headed deeper into the trees, the ground beneath him became more uneven and dangerous to the careless of foot. He was unsure as to how he would attain the funds he needed, but he continued to search nonetheless. Whenever he stopped to rest, he spied the winged rat behind him. The unusual creature perched in the trees, never sleeping, constantly tracking the hobgoblin.

Gilbert was not enjoying himself, he had stepped in many a steaming pile over the last day or two of journeying. His luck changed, however, on his third day of uneventful travelling when he spied a run-down gazebo. The structure looked ancient and overgrown, yet still somewhat homely. Upon closer inspection, he spotted a man dressed all in yellow, sitting in an armchair, reading an ancient tome. He approached the man cautiously, his hand ready on his turnip if things should turn ugly. The man looked up from his book and revealed a long orange beard, which disappeared from view inside his robes. Gilbert recognised the face, but could not put a name to it. The man put down his book, and spoke.

“Gilbert?” he asked.

“Yes, who are you?”

“Don’t you recognise me? Oh, I suppose my beard was shorter when you last saw me.” Said the man, causing Gilbert to attempt to picture him without his long flowing beard.

The hobgoblin’s eyes lit up as he finally put a name to the face.

“Hakan Brechkell?”

“Ah, so you do remember.”

“How the hell are you these days?” Gilbert enquired.

“Oh I’m fine, yourself? I had heard you had been disembowelled by the evil forces of necromancy.”

“Well, ye heard wrong, for I am here before you, fully bowelled.” Gilbert declared, earning a grin on the face of his old wizard friend.

There were many bottles and vials on a shelf located next to Hakan’s armchair; Gilbert wasted no time and began to inspect them.

“Hakan, perchance would ye have a potion used in profit seeking?”

“Hmm, let me see….” He rummaged amongst the bottles until he came to a small blue one. “This is it, bottle number four-hundred and fifty six, it will render you invisible to all but the wisest wizards. Although I’m afraid it will not hide you from the strange flying beast that seems to be following you.”

“And why is that?” Enquired the hobgoblin.

“It works by releasing a lining onto the skin, which collapses the light and redistributes it to create the illusion of invisibility. Some creatures,” The wizard continued, “Use senses other than vision to navigate. I noticed that the beast in question has very large ears, so I would wager that hindering its sight would not be a reliable way to escape it.”

“Interesting.” Mused Gilbert. “What would be your fee for such a concoction?”

“Well, I have almost everything I could want here. The only substances I have trouble obtaining are dairy produce. Ever since the cattle were wiped out in this region by the plague.”

“Well, I think I may have something for you….” Gilbert commented as he poked around in his backpack until he produced his piece of cheese. He held it aloft, being careful not to drop it. “Behold, a small, but perfectly formed chunk of cheese.”

“Ah, now that is a sight for sore eyes. You’ve got yourself a deal old friend.” Hakan said as he handed over the vial.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ye after all these years.” Gilbert whispered as he placed the cheese onto Hakan’s palm.

They parted with a handshake, and Gilbert once again set off, aiming to make use of his recently acquired vial.

The hobgoblin had not been travelling long, when he spotted a strange cloud among the trees. As he approached it, he noticed that it seemed to hover directly above a cave cut into a cliff face. Gilbert decided to investigate, wading through a strange brown pool just inside the cave. It was very dark, but a small log fire in the corner of the cave lit up his way. He grabbed a twig from the ground and poked it into the flames, setting it alight. Gilbert used the flaming stick to light several cloth torches which hung along the crumbling wall of the cave. The increase in light revealed a large stack of dirty wooden barrels against one of the walls, the labels of which read, ‘Ogre Brew,’ a renowned intoxicating and flammable beverage. Gilbert was very thirsty, and so approached the barrels. He pulled the tap on a barrel low enough for his mouth to reach, and drank the falling brown liquid. It tasted bitter, and he almost vomited the beverage back up instantly. Almost immediately, he started to feel uneasy. The hobgoblin staggered for a moment, before everything turned to darkness…